


the last twist of the Knife

by Desperate_Dr_Clone



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Genre: Adultery, Andromache is bi, Cassandra is a touch deprived lesbian, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Kinda, Mutual Pining, bc she's a prophet tm, blind! Cassandra, rated t for a passing reference to sex, symbolism in the original work? idk her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21805525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desperate_Dr_Clone/pseuds/Desperate_Dr_Clone
Summary: Cassandra is blind and crazy. To her great astonishment, her sister-in-law has developed a keen interest in her.
Relationships: Andromache/Cassandra, Andromache/Hector (implied)
Kudos: 23





	the last twist of the Knife

**Author's Note:**

> The fact that there are no works for this ship anywhere on the internet makes me so deeply angry. There are more works for Apollo/Cassandra than there are for Andromache/Cassandra. I mean what on earth is that about??? Anyway anyone is welcome to join me on my "populating the Andromache/Cassandra tag" quest. Enjoy xx

Cassandra had been going blind for years. She had not thought much of it at first. Her vision being blurry, colours seeming off, dark spots; it had been her routine since she was a girl. As the years passed, it got worse. She knew how her siblings looked, she could picture Andromache's face, she remembered Paris' shadow, she had only ever known Helen by sounds.

Andromache knew how to get on her last nerve. She meant well though, Cassandra knew. She was her closest friend, she would never hurt her, not on purpose. They were the same age, but Andromache was a woman. Cassandra was still a girl. Never been held, never been touched, never been kissed.

Men came, asked for a pretty girl's hand. They were turned down. Men came, asked for an already withered princess' hand. They were turned down. Cassandra did not want to be a woman if it meant being a man's property, so she turned to her own mind.

In her dreams, Cassandra was plagued with visions of death and destruction. When she was awake, she saw the suffering of others with more clarity than she saw their faces. It was exhausting, it was what everyone knew her for.

_Insane_. She'd only overheard the word too many times. That one was never meant for her ears. “You're not in your right mind,” Andromache would tell her. So many words to say the same thing.

Andromache liked to play with Cassandra's hair. Liked to comb through it with her fingers, liked to braid it into intricate patterns that Cassandra could never actually see. For the life of her, Cassandra could not figure out why her sister-in-law wanted anything to do with her. She had been told she was beautiful when she was younger, now at the ripe and mature age of twenty-five, she was mostly ageing, not to mention blind and insane. So Cassandra assumed that Andromache was being civil; that she was a genuinely kind person who was willing to spend time with her husband's dearest mad relative, unpleasant as it may be to her.

So Cassandra had thought the war would push Andromache away from her. It did the opposite. Andromache came to Cassandra every evening now. She heard her footsteps through the walls of her chambers, heard the door open, guessed Andromache's figure slithering in.

Embraces did not come naturally to Cassandra. To Andromache, they were obviously necessary. When she visited Cassandra at night, she would wrap her sister-in-law's arms around her shoulders and stay there. Cassandra stopped minding after some time. In fact, she grew to like holding Andromache, something that never would have crossed her mind, and even if it had, she wouldn't have known how to go about it.

Cassandra seldom spoke to Helen. Andromache did, and she did not like her much. “What does she look like?” Cassandra asked one evening.

“She has blonde hair, wide eyes, her skin is flawless.”

“Is she pretty?”

Cassandra could feel Andromache was getting annoyed. “She's the most beautiful woman in the world, Cassandra.”

“But is she pretty?”

Andromache sighed. “I don't understand what you're asking, Cassandra.”

Now Cassandra was the one getting annoyed. She didn't know how she could possibly make her meaning clearer. “I don't think she's pretty. You're pretty, most people aren't. I don't know her well enough to tell, but she doesn't sound pretty. I'd be surprised if she is; she hasn't been lucky. I do hope she is, but she would have every reason not to be.”

“Cassandra, you're rambling again.”

“Sorry.”

“She's not as pretty as you.” Andromache's words were barely audible, meant for no one's ears but her own as she made a plait of the blind girl's dark hair. They reached Cassandra nonetheless, and a wave of intense pity for Helen washed over her.

Cassandra had dreams about Andromache. She saw Andromache between her legs, she saw Andromache widowed and mourning, she saw Andromache taken by the Greeks. She woke up feeling ashamed, and for the first time, unable to untangle dream from prophecy.

Cassandra felt Hector die twice. The first time, she saw him killed by Achilles. The second time, she could only guess it. She didn't tell Andromache when she had the vision; she might have believed her. That night, Cassandra only cried into Andromache's shoulder, holding onto her tightly as she could.

Cassandra was twenty-seven, and she could no longer see anything. She spent her days alone, rambling, reciting the same poems over and over again, and thinking about Andromache. It was boring, it beat the visions she had when she stayed idle. When she saw something, she kept it to herself. Cassandra knew it was wrong of her to think about Andromache so much. She was married! She was married to _Hector_! Cassandra couldn't help herself.

Cassandra was twenty-seven, and her sister-in-law gave her her first kiss. Andromache was married and had a son; Cassandra was still the same ageing girl. Andromache was braiding Cassandra's hair, when she felt something unusual brush against her scalp.

“What was that?”

Andromache's hands froze. “What's wrong, Cassandra?”

“Did you put something in my hair?”

“It's just a flower Cassandra, I thought it would be nice.”

She relaxed. “Oh. . . I'm sorry. Thank you.”

“It's all right. You look beautiful.”

Cassandra sniggered. “Which is unusual, right?”

“Don't say that, Cassandra! You're always lovely!”

Cassandra raised her eyebrows and sighed. “I was joking, _Andromache_.”

Andromache moved from behind Cassandra to sit in front of her, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“I love you, Cassandra.”

Cassandra was quiet for a moment, as though processing the words. She nodded, and said: “I'm sorry.” She reached for Andromache's hand and held it in both of hers. “I love you too.”

“Can I kiss you?” Cassandra nodded, and Andromache leaned in.

It was nothing. A quiet brush of lips between them. When Andromache pulled away, it was as though nothing had happened.

“That horse will be the end of us all, please believe me!”

Cassandra was pacing back and forth. She had seen the Greeks, they were in the horse. Someone had to believe her. “Andromache.” Tears were forming in her eyes. “Please, I saw them. Please, I know you can't believe me, but please, please, think about it! Why would they go through the trouble of building something like this if it weren't a strategy? Why? Andromache, please. . .”

Andromache pulled her into her arms. “It's all right, Cassandra, I'm right here. You're safe. We've won the war. It will pass.”

Cassandra began to sob. She did not have the strength to speak anymore. She was so tired of begging for a believing ear, for a moment she let herself think that maybe she _was_ insane, and that Andromache would care for her through her madness, that they were safe.

And oh, was she wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos and comments, they make my heart fuzzy and warm :)


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